My lower lip trembled as the maid helped me into my dress. My fantasies of loaded statements about where I should go and sidelong glances directing me towards mysterious items that would help me escape had died under the maid's cheery straightforward ministrations. After fifteen minutes of her helping me dress, I had realized that helping me dress was her sole purpose in my rooms.
The maid helped me into my undergarments, contraptions that torturers could have used, and then pulled out my dress. I gaped at it.
Slowly a deep blush rose into my cheeks. I recognized the pinkish-white, intricate flower pattern of the lace. What I did not recognize was the slip of an underdress made of white silk that was so short it would barely cover my butt. The silk shimmered in the light and I knew it would show my every curve. My face heated to the point where I truly did look like a ripe, late summer strawberry.